Breath heaving, she rushed to the level of the first gate, the Somon Gate, and ran through it, the pale beads of her eyes wide.
Spotting Oiwa there, standing near the gate, wrapped in a blanket, the gasping woman stopped short. “Oh. It is you.” Kazuko’s beauty shone through the soot like the breathing coals of a forge. “I thought...”
Oiwa swallowed hard. “You were right to come. I’m glad you’re here, although I’m afraid we won’t have much time to talk.”
“Who are you?”
“We have...a mutual friend. You know who I speak of.”
A flurry of emotions flashed across Kazuko’s face. “Are you...his lover? His wife?” There was a forlorn bitterness in her voice.
Oiwa shook her head. “No. Would you prefer that I was?”
“No.”
“Is that all? No?”
“What would he have me say? We are both slaves to our duty. We are not free to love whom we will.” Kazuko peered around the area, into the bushes, as if wondering if someone was listening. “Where is he?”
“He’ll be here soon.” Oiwa’s breath made a steaming pennant into the brightening morning. “Tell me, my lady. What would you have him do? If it could be anything in the world.”
Kazuko’s brow furrowed for a long moment, then smoothed again. “I would wish him to serve as befits the heroes of legend, because that is what I think he would want. I want for him everything that befits a warrior’s dreams. Strength, honor, glory. If it were within my power, I would make him the greatest general in the world or the most renowned swordmaster, whichever is his wish. I would give him the moon and stars.”
“But you would not give him your heart.”
“He already has that.” The sigh that came out of her was long and shuddering. “But I cannot give him the rest of me. That belongs to someone else. And if my husband were a cruel man, a vicious man, a slothful man, a foolish man, a greedy man, any of those things, then putting aside my duty would be easier. But he is none of those things. My husband deserves better than I am. So I aspire to be worthy of him. But what about Ken’ishi? What would he have me do, if it could be anything in the world?”
“He would have you do what honor demands. Because while the love is great between you, to succumb to its temptations would make you unworthy of it. He loves the lady not just for the beauty of her face, but the beauty in her heart, which shines out of her like the moon behind clouds. He loves her for her strength and honor. But if she joins her dew with his, thus forsaking her husband, both of them become unworthy of the lord who trusts them. In his darkest moments, he dreams of taking you away to China, as you once suggested.”
Kazuko’s face flushed behind the soot as she gasped. “How is it that you know this? I have told no one of the words we spoke together...that night. Not even my handmaid Hatsumi, who has been like my sister since I was a little girl. What are you to him?”
“I am the only woman in the world who knows him better than you.”
“But you are not lovers?”
“No.”
“Has he...loved anyone else?”
The sky was shifting from purple to red.
“There was another. But she is dead now. They had a son. Killed by the barbarians.”
Kazuko sat on the porch surrounding the gate, stricken, tears bursting. “Oh, that is a pity. How terrible for him. To lose a son so cruelly... When some of us want one so desperately.”
A ray of sunlight touched the topmost branches of the massive camphor tree nearby.
Kazuko sniffed and wiped her eyes. “And what of his dog? He had the cutest, smartest dog with him. Akao was his name. He looked at me with more wisdom than many human beings I have met.”
“Akao was killed, three years ago. He saved...four lives that night, facing down an oni. He was so brave, so valiant. I shall never encounter his equal again.”
“You knew him even back th—?” Kazuko cut off her own question.
Oiwa’s voice had begun to deepen.
The camellia robe was now the garb of a man, and legs and arms were lengthening to fit it, shoulders thickening.
A quiet, astonished “ohhh…” escaped from Kazuko’s open mouth.
Hands hardened. Jaw squared. Chest broadened.
Kazuko swallowed hard, comprehension filling her face, and her voice was a mere whisper. “How...?”
“A gift from Hage.”
“Who is Hage? A shugenja, that he can make you change form?”
“A tanuki.” Ken’ishi could not help but smile at how foolish it sounded.
“Oh, him.” She smiled at a memory. “How is it that you have such interesting friends?”
“I am not certain I can call him a friend. Mostly I think I amuse him.”
“I have no friends at all.” As soon as she uttered the words, she seemed to realize how pitiful they sounded. “But it matters little. Sometimes all that can be hoped is that nobody wishes one ill.”
Seeing her there, radiant in spite of her exhaustion and disguise, remembering the way she had felt in his arms, remembering every curve of her breasts and thighs, every swoop of her soft belly, every curl of petal-soft down between her legs, the taste of her, the feel of her, the smell of her, brought it all roaring to life again.
But the chasm between them yawned wider than ever. And to cross it—as they had done on the night of her betrothal—meant dishonor and death.
“I will tell you what I will do,” Ken’ishi said.
Looking up at him, her cheeks glistened with tears, her eyes brimmed with silent entreaty.
He said, “You said that I have your heart. I tell you now and for all time that you have mine. I shall serve you with a loyalty born of that love, in the only way I can. We shall remain worthy of our lord, faithful to our duty, and loyal to the love we share.” He knelt before her, pressed his forehead to the ground at her feet, then straightened again. “By my sword, by my blood, by all the strength in me, I am yours, Lady Kazuko. Until the end.”
“It is a fact that fish will not live where the water is too clear. But if there is duckweed or something, the fish will hide under its shadow and thrive. Thus, the lower classes will live in tranquility if certain matters are a bit overlooked or left unheard. This fact should be understood with regard to people’s conduct.”
—Hagakure, Book of the Samurai
“There is no doubt, Lord,” Ushihara said. “The sword he bears is the one you’re after.”
The peasant who would become samurai knelt before Yasutoki in his office. On this, the third day of New Year festivities, all the warriors were still at liberty, so there was little questioning of movements and associations.
Yasutoki had already surmised this, but it was time to stroke his new pet. “You have done well, Sir Ushihara.” He laid a tightly wrapped paper bundle, stamped with the mon of the Otomo clan and the character gin, for silver, before Ushihara.
Ushihara’s eyes bulged. His hands trembled as he reached for the bundle. Yasutoki thought for a moment that the man might drool.
“Do I have your attention now, Sir Ushihara?”
“Yes, Lord!”
“I can be as generous to those loyal to me as I am cruel to those who fail me.”
“Yes, Lord!”
“And I shall sweeten the cup. Take this slip to the Roasted Acorn and give it to the proprietor.” Yasutoki produced a rice paper card from a drawer in his bureau. On the card were written the three characters that made up the word whore, stamped with an official seal.
“What’s it for?” Ushihara said.
Yasutoki kept his breath steady. Maintaining patience for illiterates taxed him. “He will bring you a whore. It would be a pity for you to spend all of that silver right away. Enjoy yourself.”
Ushihara’s face beamed. “Thank you, Lord! Thank you!” He pressed his forehead to the floor over and over.
“You may go.”
Ushihara scooped up the bundle of coins, clutched them in both hands, and
retreated.
After Ushihara had gone, a woman’s phlegmatic voice came from the doorway. “You called for me, Yasutoki-sama.”
“Come, Oguri,” Yasutoki said.
The servant woman bowed her way in. Decades of hard work had slumped Oguri’s shoulders, callused her hands, grayed her hair. A broad mouth, thick lips, and deeply lined features gave her the appearance of an old, wrinkled frog. She knelt before him. “What do you require?”
“There is a new servant in the castle. I wish to interview her. Her name is Oiwa.”
“Eh? Forgive me, Lord, but there have been no new servants since the eighth month.”
“But I saw her last night. She was carrying a tea service for Lady Kazuko. She claimed her name was Oiwa.”
Oguri rubbed a bit of sweat from her wrinkled brow. “Very sorry, Lord. But there is no one by that name in the castle’s employ.”
A spy? This unexpected turn put a cold blade against his spine. “She was wearing a robe with pink camellia flowers. Very pretty.” A whore from town smuggled into the castle? Not implausible. But by whom? Tsunetomo was not a man given to bedding whores and tavern girls. Such clandestine dealings without Yasutoki’s knowledge was an affront soon to be corrected.
“I did not see her, my lord,” Oguri said. “Shall I ask around?”
“Yes. And report back to me by the end of the day.”
Oguri bowed her way out.
Now, perhaps he could finish some work—
A figure filled his door and strode in without a word or the slightest gesture of respect. Yasutoki opened his mouth to unleash a torrent of recrimination, but then reached for the shuriken concealed in his sleeve.
Ken’ishi slammed the door shut behind him. He was armed with the tachi Yasutoki knew so well hanging from his obi.
The bushi stood over him, his eyes dark and full of purpose. “I know who you are.”
Yasutoki gauged the distance between them. His office was small enough that the tip of Silver Crane’s blade could reach him with the draw. But if Ken’ishi intended to attack, he would have already done so. Yasutoki remained poised to act, like a spring cranked to highest tension, a handful of poisoned shuriken in his right hand, concealed within his sleeve. “And I know who you are.”
Their eyes met like spear points clashing, tip on tip. Yasutoki held his gaze. “I must commend you on your escape. No one else has ever managed it. Sit. We must talk.”
Ken’ishi gripped the hilt of Silver Crane. He did not sit. “Is this what you’ve been looking for? Again?”
Gauging the distance, Yasutoki knew the warrior could draw and strike him down almost instantaneously.
“What are you going to do with that?” Yasutoki nodded at the tachi.
“You are a fool to employ Ushihara. The man is as subtle as a three-legged ox.”
Yasutoki allowed a small smile. “One uses the tools at one’s disposal. How were you able to enter the castle armed? Only guards are permitted weapons. If you are caught, it could mean your head.”
“My head is less important than why I am here.”
“What do you intend to do? Strike me down? That would be most unwise.”
Ken’ishi’s hand had not yet left his hilt. “Leave the castle now. Beg Lord Tsunetomo’s forgiveness for abandoning his service and take your vows as a monk. Go into retirement.”
“Are you planning to take your revenge if I refuse? You see, I know who you are, Ken’ishi the Oni-Slayer. Ken’ishi, the ronin who murdered Nishimuta no Takenaga, a duly appointed constable of the Nishimuta clan. Ken’ishi the ronin who saved Nishimuta no Kazuko from the bandit Hakamadare, thus depriving me of a valuable associate, I might add. The same ronin who despoiled the honor of the girl betrothed to Lord Otomo no Tsunetomo.”
Ken’ishi’s eyebrows jumped.
“Oh, yes, I do know about that. I have suspected this moment might come since you appeared on the rolls of Tsunemori’s new recruits. Thus, I have written a letter that describes in detail everything I know about your relationship with Lady Kazuko. I was there to see much of it for myself, you will recall, and I had even more from the lady’s servant Hatsumi before she went mad. If anything happens to me, if I am killed by brigands or die of infection from a splinter, this letter will be delivered by someone loyal to me into the hands of Lord Tsunetomo. You are samurai. I do not doubt for a moment that you would spend your life to take your revenge on me. You could do it now. But the more interesting question is whether you care about what happens to our Lady Kazuko. If this knowledge were exposed, her shame and humiliation would be the least of the consequences. Lord Tsunetomo would be within his authority to have her executed. But I have no interest in that. I have no interest in rocking the boat, as they say. Thanks in part to you, I have lost almost everything. The tiger must repair to his cave and lick his wounds.”
“I have written a similar letter.”
“A bit childish to say, as I doubt that very much. If I allow you to leave this office, however, I do not doubt that you will soon write one.”
Ken’ishi scowled. “Or perhaps you’re lying. Perhaps no such letter has been written.”
“Are you willing to take that chance?” Yasutoki’s gaze remained fixed on Ken’ishi’s face. If the man’s right hand so much as twitched, Yasutoki would send a storm of poisoned blades at his naked face.
Ken’ishi growled, “You tortured me. Imprisoned me. Starved me. The gods would thank me for sending you to Hell.”
“Doubtless you’re correct. But I don’t intend to meet them any time soon.”
“If Silver Crane ‘disappears’ again, the gods themselves will not save you,” Ken’ishi said.
“I am content to let you have it. I know now that it was wrong to take it from you. Besides, now I know where to find you if I have need of it.”
“I’ll never bow to your will.”
“But you already have. We are talking, rather than hacking off bits of each other. Do you know that sword’s history?”
“I do. But I don’t know why it matters so much to you.”
Yasutoki considered for a moment. Throughout his life, he had honed the art of weaving secrets and lies in the most advantageous ways. “It belonged to my great-grandfather, Taira no Tomomori, who died at the Battle of Dan-no-Ura, protecting the Emperor Antoku.”
Another flash of surprise on Ken’ishi’s face.
“You do know its history,” Yasutoki said. “Then you know it was lost at sea. And yet, somehow, it has been found. It is a treasure of the Taira clan, priceless beyond measure.”
“You are Taira clan?”
“An illustrious heritage, to be sure, but one that it is no longer expedient to claim. Only those who swore fealty to Minamoto no Yoritomo were allowed to keep their family name. The rest were expunged, but a few, my grandfather, managed to escape into anonymity. So, as you see, the sword has great value to me, both sentimental and monetary. There are those who would pay an emperor’s ransom for it. There is a legend as well that the sword grants power to one of Taira blood who wields it.”
Thoughts flickered behind Ken’ishi’s eyes.
“With that sword,” Yasutoki said, “you defeated an oni, five Mongols on the road to Dazaifu, and untold dozens more in Hakozaki. That sounds like great power. This inclines me to consider that you might be of Taira blood yourself. You claim no knowledge of your heritage. Your parents were murdered when you were a baby. That may well have been in one of the purges by the Hojo clan to make sure that no scattered seed of the Taira clan ever takes root again. We may well share the same enemies.”
Ken’ishi’s face quivered with suppressed emotion.
“Now then, as we may well be kinsmen,” Yasutoki said, “we must decide what to do. Rather than forcing you to work for me, a proposal to which I know you will never agree, I suggest a truce.”
“A truce.” Ken’ishi spat the word like it was poison.
“Neither of us can kill the other outright, as neither of us relis
hes the idea of our secrets being exposed. But we are both ambitious, more than willing to kill those in the way of what we want. Perhaps one day you will come to appreciate my powers, as Lord Tsunetomo does.”
“Never!”
Yasutoki waved a hand. “As you will. But it is such resolve that makes you powerful. I predict that you will go far in Lord Tsunetomo’s employ. If you can manage to keep your secret.”
“Stay away from me,” Ken’ishi said. “Stay away from her.” Then he spun and stalked out of the office.
Yasutoki released his breath slowly, let the tension ease out of him. He had been not at all certain this confrontation would pass without bloodshed. Unfortunately, Yasutoki now had a vulnerability, even if he still held the advantage.
Better still, he now knew the key to moving Ken’ishi, the lever by which to move a mountain.
Kazuko.
SO ENDS THE SIXTH SCROLL
PART II: THE SEVENTH SCROLL
“There is a saying, ‘Sever the edge between before and after.’ Not ridding the mind of previous moments, allowing traces of the present mind to remain—both are bad. This means one should cut through the interval between the previous and the present. Its significance is in cutting off the edge between before and after, between now and then. It means not detaining the mind.”
—Takuan Soho, “The Mysterious Record of Immovable Wisdom”
Ken’ishi took a deep breath to still his thundering heart.
He settled himself into the Void, felt the morning sun and spring breeze on his face, the rigidity of the saddle, the warmth of the horse between his legs, and kicked the flanks of his stallion, Storm. Storm tossed his pale head and thundercloud-colored mane, and leaped forward.
Raising himself in the saddle to steady his aim, Ken’ishi nocked an arrow and drew his bow. Rushing closer was the first diamond-shaped wooden plank, about the size of a breastplate, his target. Storm’s hooves pounded the packed earth between the rope fences of the arrow-straight yabusame course, picking up speed with each bound.
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